It was 1979 when I first opened the hardware store. In this sleepy town it was a big deal. Now it’s a fixture and by God I am damn proud of that.
“Harold, why in the blue blazes would you open a hardware store I this sleepy town” they’d say.
“I reckon because there isn’t a hardware store here and it seems to be a need of this slowly growing town” I’d reply.
“Hmm, good call” they’d say as they went back to sleep.
It was tough at first. Didn’t know the first thing about running a hardware store. Or any store for that matter. I’d come to work freshly shaved every morning trying to serve my customers the best I could. I didn’t know shit. Who is going to by hardware products from some fresh faced 28 year old who is happy to see you?
“Hi Mr. Benson! Anything I can help you with today?” I’d say with a smile. He would grab me by the throat.
“Listen you little rat fuck! If I need help it ain’t from some happy go lucky asshole with a baby’s butt for a face!” He would say through clenched teeth. Needless to say sales weren’t so good. I sunk everything I had into the store. Everything I had and everything my parents had left me when they finally laid down for that final nap. I admit I didn’t take my failure as a business man the best I could have. I started drinking. I didn’t care anymore. I was screwed. I would be broke and up to my ears in debt in a sleepy town with no hope of finding work. I became a full blown alcoholic. I stopped caring. I lost my happy – go – lucky attitude. And that is how I became the man I am today. Now the hardware is thriving. It has been here for 25 years now. My beard has grown long and grey in that time. My overalls do the job of keeping my ass covered and the bills are always paid.
“Need any help Mr. Benson?” I say as he grabs me by the throat. I slap his hand away and hit him with a pipe wrench. “Keep your grimy little ass grabbers off of me you washed up piece of shit!” I shout as he picks his teeth up off the floor.
“You are a good man, Harold.” He pays me for a hammer and super glue and starts gluing his teeth back in. I take a swig from Jim Beam I keep behind the counter. 7:45 am and I already had customers. This sleepy town wakes up early sometimes I guess. My beard already had saw dust in it but I can’t say for sure that was from this morning or from last week. Hell, there is enough motor oil in this beard to preserve most anything I guess. Yep. The customers may come and go but I will always be here in this sleepy town. Drinking my drink, grinding axes to a sharp point, restocking the gaskets, shaking up the paint, drinking my drink, cutting down the wood, smoothing the dowels, drinking my drink, hunkering the clamps, prying the grommets and occasionally taking a drink from my drink. They may call this a sleepy town but I have no intention of leaving. When I go to sleep for that last time they can bury me next to my parents where they laid down for their final slumber many years ago in this sleepy town.
-Harold Crawly
March, 2004